In This Inky Black Darkness
by My Blue-eyed Martyr
Summary: After a long and bloody battle, Gilbert and Matthew think the fight is over and they are alone on the battlefield. But are they really? One-shot. Repost. Warnings: Language and character death


**A/N: Hello hello lovely readers~ I would like to note that this is indeed a repost. I first published this story on my old account, but for personal reasons I felt it would be best to create a new account and to repost this story. I wrote this a few months ago, so I made a few tweaks on parts that were bothering me and I changed the title. I hope you all enjoy this story~**

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Himaruya Hidekaz**

**WARNINGS: Language and character death**

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"I... I think it's over..."

Gilbert looked down to the quiet man he was shielding with his own body. He slowly pulled himself off the Canadian and leaned heavily against the large rock they were huddled behind.

He glanced over to Matthew again, and could now see the awful state he was in. His usually silky blond hair was a tangled mass of dried blood and matted dirt. His navy blue uniform was torn and stained dark red in multiple places, especially on the sleeves where deep slices all down the younger man's thin arms could be seen through the tears in the fabric. The knuckles of his hands were as white as bone as he clenched his rifle and held it close to his chest. But the things that stood out the most to Gilbert were the horror and relief that both shone clearly in Matthew's bright and readable blue eyes. The Prussian looked down at his own body and could tell that he must not look much better than the frightened man beside him.

They sat in silence for a few tantalizingly long moments, waiting for something, anything to happen. Gilbert let out the breath he had apparently been holding. "I think you may be right," he breathed at last, closing his crimson eyes.

Suddenly, he felt a heavy weight pressed against him. His eyes snapped open, and he realized it was Matthew, rifle thrown away and forgotten, his arms wrapped tightly around the white-haired man's neck.

"Mattie, you are never supposed to set down your rifle," he whispered into said man's blood-caked hair, but he let his own rifle fall beside him as he wrapped his arms around Matthew's thin waist. Finally. It was finally over. No more fighting. No more death. No more blood. Over.

They both broke into wide smiles and began to laugh as they sat there holding each other in their arms. Matthew pulled away just a bit and cupped Gilbert's grinning face in his hands, kissing his cheeks and his forehead and his lips because he was there and he was safe and he was simply _alive_. He threw his arms back around the albino man's neck and relieved tears fell down both their cheeks as they laughed into each other's hair.

Gilbert felt the body on top of him slump and the the arms around his neck loosen before he heard the shot. "M-Mattie..?" he whispered when the thinner man gasped in pain. He tightened his grip around the Canadian's waist. No. No no no no! Frantically, Gilbert pushed the limp blond's shoulders away just enough to view his dirty and pained face, his eyes clenched shut tightly and sweat beading along his hairline. No, this wasn't fucking happening... Gilbert held one of his hands to the back of Matthew's neck to support his head as he turned him over and lied him down against the rock. When Matthew cried out, Gilbert quickly pulled him up again and held him close to his chest. Oh God no, don't let this be happening. Please please please...

"G-Gilbert…" Matthew groaned and then coughed harshly. His breath was quick and strained.

Gilbert leaned him back, but maneuvered himself so that Matthew's head was supported by the older man's arm and his body by his leg. He heard shouts from somewhere fairly close, but he blocked them out. The only things he could hear were Matthew's wracking breaths, his short gasps, his moans filled with pain. This wasn't happening. Just a moment ago, things had been fine. They had been safe. The fighting had been over. But now here was Matthew, lying here bleeding. Gilbert pressed a dirty, calloused hand to Matthew's quick-whitening face, blinking his eyes hard to stop the forming tears from falling. No way in hell was he going to cry now. He had to be strong for Matthew. He had to help him, he had to get him away from these evil bastards who had… shot him.

"Matthew…" Gilbert whispered. "Dammit, don't leave me like this. This isn't how things are supposed to be."

"G-Gilbert…" Matthew came again, quieter. The albino man leant his head down and rested it on Matthew's shoulder. It took a few moments before Gilbert noticed something stroking his hair. He raised his head slightly and realized it was Matthew. Matthew was stroking his hair. He was trying to _comfort_ him while he was lying here fucking _dying_. When Gilbert looked to Matthew's pale face, the Canadian's bright blue eyes, though filled with pain, gazed back. "I-it's alright," he coughed loudly, "G-Gilbert…"

This time, Gilbert couldn't help the tears from falling down his cheeks. He gently took Matthew up in his arms again, burying his wet face in the crook of his warm neck. He could feel Matthew's pulse pumping through his artery, though it was strained and irregular. "No, it's not…" he murmured. He wasn't going to lie to Matthew, especially not now.

A sudden tremor ran through Matthew's body, and Gilbert quickly pulled away to again view Matthew's dirty face. His blue eyes were again clenched shut, and he bit his lip hard, trying to endure the pain. Eventually, he relaxed. "G-Gilbert…" he began, his eyes open again. But they were different than before. They were glazed over and unseeing, an unsettling shade of pale blue settling over them. "I w-won't l-leave you… I p-promise…" He hacked again, blood spilling from his mouth. Then, he was still.

Gilbert heard nothing. He saw nothing. He didn't see the enemy soldiers come from behind the rock that was supposed to be protecting he and Matthew. He didn't hear their screaming demands. He didn't feel them try to tear Matthew's body from his arms. He didn't feel the kicks they sent into his side, his head, his back. He didn't feel the bullet they sent into his chest. He didn't feel the cold ground as he fell, the empty shell of the man he loved still clutched to his chest. He felt nothing, because Matthew was gone. Precious, fragile, gentle Matthew. Gone. Never coming back. It was simply too much. Even as he lay there, his own crimson blood spilling onto the ground and mixing with Matthew's, there was nothing. No feeling. Only numbness. When the darkness began to envelope his body, he welcomed it. Anything to stop this mad nothingness. It just had to stop.

And maybe, just maybe, he could find Matthew again in this inky black darkness.


End file.
